


Valentine's Day

by JessicaMariana



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Apologies, Established Relationship, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaMariana/pseuds/JessicaMariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock ruins a perfectly nice Valentine by pointing out everything that’s wrong with it and as a result John’s had enough. Now Sherlock wishes to put it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valentine's Day

John and Sherlock returned to 221B after an evening out on a date that John had set up. He had wanted to show Sherlock the romance of the holiday and taken him on a walk through the snow covered Hyde Park just to end up at a restaurant where he’d booked a table for the two of them.

During the dinner which John had imagined to be at least a quiet one Sherlock had kept insisting how stupid the holiday was and wouldn’t stop pointing out how disgustingly pink and red the decorations in the spacious room was. By the time they’d finished their appetizers John had given up trying to be romantic, resulting in him having more to drink than necessary and wanting to go back home.

 

As they entered 221B later that evening John sighed in relief when he saw that Mrs. Hudson had turned in for the night. This was John’s chance to really make this night memorable.

The early February snow was falling softly from the dark sky and the living room lay silent in the dim light from the street lamps outside the high windows.

John glanced at Sherlock as they stripped off their coats, gloves and wet shoes. Sherlock hung up his clothes on the knobs behind the door while John laid his over the armrest of the sofa: he’d take them upstairs later. Sherlock was just about to turn on the lights when John stopped him, grabbing his thin wrist.

“Let’s keep it dark,” he murmured. The street lamps’ warm orange light was enough, John thought. And it was sort of romantic in the silence. “I’ll just get some candles instead.”

Sherlock sighed, impatience layering thick on his face. It was obvious he wanted to do something else than sit in the dark for the rest of the night. He might have changed a little since he and John started going out, but he was still Sherlock. When most people wanted to spend an evening with their loved ones, Sherlock couldn’t care less. But he’d promised to make an effort for John just this once.

A moment later John came back into the living room, in his hands were a couple of big candles and a box of matches. He set them on the coffee table and lit them. When straightening himself, John found two hands with their long fingers travelling up his waist to his chest. Sherlock stood behind him, his long face rubbing against John’s neck.

“Done complaining, are you?” John asked him, feeling a bit annoyed at how the surroundings could change one’s behaviour so abruptly.

Sherlock hummed against his neck as he started kissing it with his full lips.

“I’m sorry, John,” he breathed between kisses.

John didn’t want to get trapped in Sherlock’s act and pushed him away with an elbow to the ribs. He walked across the room, his hands rubbing off the faint traces of Sherlock’s saliva on his skin.

“You were the one saying Valentine’s was stupid,” John muttered. He tried to avoid any possible contact while he paced back and forth the room. “And now you’re--- No. That’s not how it works.”

Sherlock stood and just watched as John let it all out. He’d been keeping his own complaints in all evening and seemed to truly need to get them off his chest. He was swearing and calling Sherlock unnecessarily rude names, but it was working. John felt better as soon as he’d had enough and stopped. He looked at Sherlock, his eyes full of distress and regret over what he’d just blurted out. But that’s what Sherlock did; he pushed you in so many ways, he knew exactly where to do it, and then you finally just threw yourself over the edge to get him to stop.

“I just wanted to have one romantic evening with you, but no,” John continued. “You can’t relax for a few hours while I try to show you a good time. Well, since you’re so against it, I guess I’ll just go upstairs. Good night.”

John stormed out of the room, picking up his jacket and shoes on the way. Sherlock listened as the doctor jogged up the stairs and slammed the door behind him.

Soon there was a knock on the living room door. Mrs. Hudson had come up, dressed in her fluffy robe, looking worried.

“What’s all the fuss?” she asked, taking a look around the dark, empty room.

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied and walked past her, up the stairs to John’s room.

He didn’t bother knocking, but just turned the knob and peeked in. John was taking off his socks when Sherlock entered, not noticing the small click of the door closing again.

“John,” Sherlock whispered.

John jerked up in surprise and turned around. He held his arms close to his body as he watched the tall, dark figure in the corner by the door.

“Sherlock?”

“I want to apologise,” Sherlock explained. It was the logical thing to do, he thought.

“Yes, fine. Now get out, I’m going to bed.”

Sherlock took two long steps and was across the narrow room, right in front of John. He grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him closer.

“Sherlock, stop it,” John protested.

Any attempt at resisting was out the window when Sherlock put a hand under his chin and lift it up to kiss him. It was the most passionate kiss Sherlock had ever given or put effort into. John was baffled. Was Sherlock still acting or was this the real thing? Was Sherlock _that_ sorry?

John tried to push him away, but Sherlock wrapped his arms around his arms and back to keep him in place, pressed firmly against himself. John struggled to breathe; his nose was crushed against Sherlock’s cheek. He let out various hums and groans, but Sherlock didn’t seem to get the hint, so he felt around with his foot for Sherlock’s and stepped on it. Sherlock immediately broke the kiss and looked down at John, his eyes full of disappointment.

John took several deep breaths and tried to hold himself upright. The lack of air had made him feel faint.

“If you’re serious about this,” he murmured. “We have to coordinate.”

There was a slight moment of silence, and then John spoke again.

“I need a shower.”

 

John locked the bathroom door downstairs a moment later. First, he turned on the water to fill the tub. Then he pulled off his blue sweater. He didn’t realise how cold he was until the hot steam started filling the room, fogging the glass panels on the two doors and the mirror above the sink.

Sherlock pulled off his jacket and started to unbutton his white shirt. John watched as he laid them neatly on top of the hamper. Soon they were both shirtless; standing in front of each other, only inches away. Sherlock looked down at John: he wanted to memorise every rise and dip of his lean muscles, his eyes wandering all over John’s body. They stopped at his cock, still hidden behind the thick layer of fabric.

John leaned in, his eyes closed as his lips pressed against Sherlock’s for the second time that night. Sherlock pressed his hands lightly against John’s jaw. He opened his mouth, letting John’s tongue slide in. He could taste the sweet wine he’d had earlier on his breath.

John leaned back and slowly started to back up, away from Sherlock’s arms. He undid his jeans and pulled them down along with his pants. He stepped out of them and took Sherlock’s hand, absently stroking the back of it with his thumb.

“Come here,” he said. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub when he felt it nudge against the back of his legs and let go of Sherlock’s hand. Instead he placed his hands behind Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down for another kiss – a quicker one this time. “Get in.”

Sherlock was about to obey after sliding out of his own trousers, but didn’t get his pants off before John had managed to put both feet in the tub and pulled him in as well. He pushed down Sherlock on his back, immediately soaking his navy blue pants. John straddled his thighs and looked down at him, his eyes ravenous. When he started rubbing himself against Sherlock’s crotch he suddenly realised what he’d done and got back up with an embarrassed smile on his lips and gave Sherlock a hand.

“Sorry. Just eager, I guess.”

As Sherlock started pulling off his pants John couldn’t help but notice how see-through they’d become. That surely wasn’t a sight often seen. The head of Sherlock’s dick was peeking out from between the waistband and his flat stomach. The shape of it was clearly visible because of the wet fabric sticking to his chiselled body. John could feel his cock twitch and had to grab it. He gave it a coupe of jerks while waiting for Sherlock to sit back down. He was truly a sight for sore eyes.

“Wait,” John said abruptly.

Sherlock, already standing on his knees in the tub, stopped right there and waited for John to continue. His face was motionless as he watched John’s mind scramble for words. John wasn’t really sure why he’d told Sherlock to wait, and therefore quickly tried to get anything out of his mouth as fast as his brain managed to work in this situation.

“Turn around and bend over,” John finally ordered him, sounding a lot harsher than he meant to, but watched as Sherlock obediently turned his back towards him and leaned his forearms against the short end of the tub.

John moved his body closer to Sherlock’s as the warm water started pooling higher around their legs. He leaned over Sherlock; his hand was sliding down his chest to his dick. Sherlock shuddered to his soft, yet cool hands and John licked his lips with arousal. His heart started to beat faster.

With the top of his head against the wall and his legs spread as wide as the narrow bath could possibly offer, Sherlock moaned to John’s stroke. John twisted his wrist when he jerked back up the hardening length and gave it a light squeeze when pumping back down.

John was already solid himself: his hot cock rubbed against Sherlock’s arse. It was starting to drip pre-come. John could see how it ran down his shaft, down in Sherlock’s crease and disappeared. He took a deep breath and put his other hand on Sherlock’s left buttock. He pushed it to the side and looked at the dark pink hole, now glossy with his bodily fluid. He probed a finger of his other hand against it and watched it tighten around the tip.

“Relax,” John whispered, barely audible over the flowing water, and thrust his finger deeper.

Sherlock groaned in front of him, his head slumped forward between his tense shoulders.

“Sherlock,” John said; his voice low as he leaned over his lover. “My finger’s all the way in. Should I add another?”

To his surprise, Sherlock took a deep yet shaky breath and was able to loosen up further. John took it as an invite and managed not only to thrust a second finger inside but also a third. He went slowly, knowing the consequences if he didn’t.

John closed his eyes as he started rubbing him from the inside making Sherlock’s entire form tremble. Having controlled himself for so long before he and John had actually become lovers, he was still not used to the overpowering stimulation. John found it absolutely arousing, seeing Sherlock writhe in his embrace, and always had to think twice before doing something too sudden which could end the moment all too quickly.

 

John slid his fingers out a while later, feeling that Sherlock was ready for more. He placed one around his cock and the other on Sherlock’s shoulder as he thrust inside Sherlock in one slow movement, sliding in inch by inch. It was marvellous how easily he slid in. When the head had passed the opening of the puckered hole, John could feel Sherlock’s body pull him further inside. The heat surrounding his cock felt so good that John had to let out a satisfied sigh.

“Fuck,” John grunted when his cock was all the way in, the base of it pressing against Sherlock’s arse. He could hardly breathe. The room had become impossibly humid and sweat was running down both men’s bodies, into the burning water which reminded John to turn of the tap.

As the room fell silent Sherlock jerked his hips against John’s crotch by impulse. His arse felt so good it was starting to itch in an encouraging way. He wanted more and therefore started moving. John took the hint and pulled back, almost all the way out just to ram back inside. The echoing sound of his skin slapping against Sherlock’s was embarrassingly loud, but he knew that if he continued and started a faster pace he’d soon be able to tune it out.

Sherlock loosened up slightly more as John moved and it got easier to thrust. John now started thrusting faster and harder; he was positively ramming into Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock panted. He now leaned one arm against the wall and his forehead against it as his other hand pumped his dick in rhythm with John’s movements.

 

Soon the stifling air in the small room was starting to make John and Sherlock lightheaded. And as John kept pounding into Sherlock he felt more and more like he had to try and finish before he’d pass out rather than keep going until he came out of pleasure.

“Sherlock,” John panted, his chin resting against his own chest as he kept thrusting back and forth. “Talk to me: say something…”

The bathroom was now a mess of echoing moans, heavy breathing, the sound of skin against skin and the splashing of water. But neither man cared who could hear them – they were too caught up in the overwhelming emotion of pure lust flowing through their bodies.

Sherlock opened his pale eyes and glanced back at John over his shoulder.

“John,” he said every time John would thrust back in. “John…”

John looked at Sherlock’s red face and felt a sudden spasm of emotion low in his gut. He stopped moving and had to support himself against Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock could feel John release into him, the pulsing of his thick cock, and the shots of his hot sperm deep inside him. The feeling of all that liquid got the best of Sherlock and he closed his eyes again, shooting his own load into the bathtub with a groan.

John slumped down over Sherlock arse and tried to catch his breath. He was quite satisfied but he felt like the heat had gotten the best of him. He needed a change of location. He told Sherlock to get washed up and cooled down.

“I’ll be ready again in 15 minutes or so,” John breathed as he started cleaning himself.

Sherlock silently did he same. He knew what he’d gotten himself into when apologising to John for his behaviour. But he preferred a few rounds in bed over some “romantic” dinner, though what he’d like best was to sign up for another case. _It’s for John_ , he told himself. _This one day only. And if it gets too boring I could always try to get some of John’s semen and use it in an experiment._

 

Fifteen minutes later they sat down on the bed in Sherlock’s bedroom, both wrapped in towels to keep warm. Even if it was nice to get into the cooler air outside the bathroom, the brisk change made both men shiver. But it didn’t take long for them to get warm, and before he knew it John had pushed Sherlock down and was straddling him, his lips pressed against the other’s, his towel already fallen off and his cock stiffening.

“John,” Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes as John started kissing his long neck. He was definitely getting hard again as well. He found it hard to resist John’s expert touch: he knew exactly where Sherlock’s pleasure points were.

Submitting to John’s soft kisses and rough hands, Sherlock tugged off his own towel to stroke himself. He thrust his hips into his tight grip harder and harder. His breath became ragged. John lay on top of him all that time, just kissing him lazily along his jaw-line, throat, neck and collarbone. Now and then he’d dip his tongue behind Sherlock’s ear and teasingly moan into it. Sherlock could feel John’s erection rubbing against his pelvis when he thrust himself upward and arched his back.

John had now stopped kissing him and was just lustfully gazing into his half closed, glassy eyes. He slowly backed off the bed and stood up next to it. He pulled at Sherlock’s left thigh, sliding it over the edge and told Sherlock to sit up. John lowered himself to his knees between Sherlock’s legs and wrapped his arms around his thighs. He began kissing them, leaving faint hickies on the soft skin.

“John, touch it,” Sherlock begged as John followed let his eyes wander down his torso to his crotch. “Please.”

Sherlock’s erection looked painfully hard and it was leaking non-stop. It must have been as sensitive as it looked. The mere thought of accepting Sherlock’s request and touch it made John’s stomach flutter and his cheeks go redder

 

“I’ll have plenty of time to touch it,” John replied and swallowed hard. “We have all night. Besides… I’m already touching it,” John said softly. His hands were close to the base, buried in Sherlock’s short pubic hairs, his thumbs caressing his balls. But nothing was touching the solid length properly. John let his fingers ghost over the reddened head and down the shaft.

“Please,” Sherlock growled. He was seated on the far edge of the bed now, trying to get as close to John’s hands or face as possible. But his knees were giving way and he was slowly sinking to the floor. He hopelessly tried to hold on to John’s firm shoulders.

John winced as Sherlock’s thumb carelessly dug into his old bullet wound. He grabbed Sherlock’s upper arms to make him stop and then hoisted him back onto the bed.

Sherlock rolled over on his stomach and gasped as his dick rubbed against the soft fabric of the satin sheets. Oh God, it felt good. If he moved another inch he knew he’d come. He yearned for John’s touch whether it would be inside him or around his dick.

“John,” he breathed again.

“Alright.”

John observed the frustration in his red face and patted the small space of the bed in front of him.

Sherlock sat back up and swung his legs over the edge. He breathed heavily with anticipation. John caressed Sherlock’s thighs, continuing where he’d been interrupted. Sherlock shuddered. He was so tense now, waiting for that one touch he knew would hurl him over the rim.

“Fortunately I didn’t have dessert, so there is room for some,” John hummed as he let a hand cautiously slide up Sherlock’s hard dick. With his eyes shut he concentrated on sliding his tongue up and down the erection. Sherlock ran a hand through John’s short hair and whimpered. His other hand was holding him upright. John looked up at him, his blue eyes tracing the outlines of Sherlock’s parted lips.

“John,” Sherlock pleaded, his voice just a faint breath. “Do it properly. I’m about to come…”

John smiled at him and let his eyes drop back to Sherlock’s erection which was now twitching against his warm tongue. John gently sucked the head between his lips and licked its slit with his tongue then took as much of it as he could manage into his mouth. He sucked down hard, inhaling Sherlock’s musky scent through his nose. The salty pre-come was dripping down his hand. John’s sensitive tongue could feel the veins on Sherlock’s dick as it slid deeper inside him. Sherlock’s breath shook when he could see how much John could fit in his mouth and how his nose pressed against his pubic hairs. Sherlock twitched again and heard a muffled gag from the back of John’s throat. John swallowed, still pressed tight around the long dick. And that was it: Sherlock gasped and closed his eyes. His abs were working hard and his lungs even harder as he leaned his torso over John’s head and released. Every muscle in Sherlock’s body seemed to tremble as John swallowed all of the thick, creamy fluid. He was also gasping for air now. His eyes were shut, his eyebrows creased, and his hands were hopelessly grabbing Sherlock’s knees trying to push him away.

As Sherlock started to regain the ability to move after the paralysing orgasm he leaned back and John took a deep breath through his nose and grabbed his own leaking cock. He only needed a few strokes to come. He ended up leaning his cheek against Sherlock’s crotch, breathing hot against his inner thigh while he shot his semen on the floor.

“That couldn’t have tasted good,” Sherlock complained in a whisper a minute later.

John leaned back and licked his lips, his breath still heavy. “On the contrary: it’s like you taste better for every time I do this to you,” he commented in a low murmur and ran his fingers up Sherlock’s stomach. “You should let me do this more often.” He chuckled silently and got up on his feet.

Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and fell back against the mattress.

“So, how was your Valentine’s Day?” John asked casually while lying down next to him, turning onto his back. He was utterly satisfied now. Thinking about how the evening had started Sherlock had indeed given him more than he’d been able to hope for.

“I still don’t see the point in having to go through all those charades before getting here,” Sherlock grunted as they lay there in the dark, silent room looking at each other.

John started to explain, but decided not to go down that road again. If Sherlock was alright with having a night alone, John could manage. “But it would be nice having dinner out together sometime without having to worry that we’d have to go running off in the middle of it.”

“Fine. How’s next Tuesday?” Sherlock smiled at him.

John smiled back at his smugness and shifted closer to him. He leaned his head against Sherlock’s chest and sighed, content.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to spread this on tumblr, please reblog it from me: [lustfullygazing](http://lustfullygazing.tumblr.com/)


End file.
